


Piano Man

by kenwaylights



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: F/M, Gen, M/M, Reader-Insert, Reader-Interactive, first-person perspective
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-25
Updated: 2015-10-25
Packaged: 2018-04-28 00:19:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5070571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kenwaylights/pseuds/kenwaylights
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You've got a long shift and the bartender is a cutie pie.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Piano Man

**Author's Note:**

> Yikes at that first person. Might rewrite this one day.
> 
> Based on the song by Billy Joel: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xEprNGh3FRo

_It’s nine o'clock on a Saturday. The regular crowd shuffles in. There’s an old man sitting next to me making love to his tonic and gin._

 

I sat on the stool behind the grand piano, which was situated on a small stage in the corner of the bar. I’d been offered this job awhile ago after the owner heard me playing some songs with my acoustic guitar in the park. It wasn’t great pay, but it sure beat my old job.

The elderly man closest to the stage slowly got up and approached me. “Can I play you a song, sir?” I asked sweetly.

“Yes, please, if you don’t mind,” he answered in a rasp before giving me his request.

He smiled as I played his song. Guess who else was smiling at me? The cute bartender I’d had my eye on since I got this job. I felt the blush colour my cheeks and dropped my gaze to the keys.

 

_Now John at the bar is a friend of mine. He gets me my drinks for free, and he’s quick with a joke or to light up your smoke, but there’s someplace that he’d rather be._

 

I took a few more requests before taking my break. (I play pretty much all night, you see.) I made my way over to the bar and sat down. “You know, in the month that I’ve been here, I never caught your name, hot stuff,” I commented nonchalantly to the bartender in a moment of uncharacteristic boldness.

He laughed. “It’s Desmond. What’ll it be?”

“I hear your signature’s pretty good. What’s it called, a Shirley Templar?”

“That’s the one.”

“I’ll have that.”

“Comin’ right up.” Desmond mixed the drink and passed it to me, leaning on the bar in front of me. “So, you’ve got my name, but I don’t have yours. Not too fair, is it?”

“_____,” I responded, holding out my hand for him to shake. He did.

“Well, y'know, _____, you’ve got a really nice set of pipes on you.”

“Thanks, that means a lot.” I offered a smile, which was returned.

“Just callin’ it like I see it. Or, rather, hear it.” We shared a laugh. _Let the ~~flirting~~ bonding commence, _I thought.__

Best work night ever.

 

_Yes they’re sharing a drink they call loneliness, but it’s better than drinking alone._


End file.
